


Bend, not break

by d_ecrease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_ecrease/pseuds/d_ecrease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt over at Hannibal Kink - </p>
<p>hannibal is a war general in ww1 or ww2, with the central powers or the axis powers respectively. he's infamous as cruel--he believes a horrible but quick war is more merciful than a slow, slightly less horrible war.</p>
<p>will is a soldier in a unit (either british or american) that is captured. and he's left completely at the mercy of the general.</p>
<p>bonus pts:<br/>+ will is fairly young (20s) and inexperienced with war<br/>++ will empathizes with all the fallen soldiers on both sides and with hannibal, and it's driving him crazy in the trenches, so he's a mess of fear & ptsd & emotional distress<br/>+++ hannibal still finds will's mind fascinating and can see how it's affecting him<br/>++++ if hannibal is known as 'hannibal the cannibal' or 'the ripper'<br/>+++++ hannibal finds will fascinating and beautiful and doesn't actually want to kill him (right away)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will bit his lips as he sat up, tried to gauge time through the shadows cast by a small slit near the ceilings. It was probably night time, and most in the bunker were asleep. Sleep was a gift that rarely happened to Will, so he allowed himself to count the roaches scuttering across the walls. There had to be at least a dozen of them. Once he might have cringed, but compared to the other things he witnessed lately, a bunch of insects meant nothing. He'd gladly exchange battling bugs everyday to this.  
  
Will rubbed at his temples as his neighbour, cramped into the same space next to him, began thrashing wildly in his sleep. Tears were always commonplace in the bunker, along with nightmares.  
  
"No! Don't take her, don't take my-"  
  
"Hey, wake up, Matthew," Will shook him by his shoulders, narrowly missing a punch to his nose. "Hey!"  
  
Matthew's eyes snapped open, blank and unseeing as he clutched at Will. "Where have you taken her?"  
  
Will swatted at his hand, and peered into Matthew's face. He made an effort to make himself sound calm. "Matthew, we're in Germany. Your wife is safe back home. It was all a dream, okay?"  
  
Will watched as lucidity began creeping back into Matthew's face, the spark of realization before it crumbled into resignation. He slumped back against the wall, let out a shaky breath.  
  
"This is how it's gonna end, isn't it? They put us here together, wait for us to die. Cheaper and easier than gassing."  
  
A bark of laughter.  
  
"It doesn't necessarily end that way." Will said, words lacking conviction. He looked away now, uncomfortable with eye contact now that Matthew's awake.  
  
"That's not what you think." And after a beat, Matthew gestured towards the rest of platoon, "Just look at them."  
  
Will usually tried not to look, because hearing and smelling were enough, there wasn't a need to add to his growing anxiety. It wasn't so much of the stench here that gets to him, it was the moaning, the crying, and above all the pain.  
  
Will felt it, he couldn't help it, but he's there, right with them when they're thinking about their family, _oh what would they do without me?_ The fear, overwhelming and dangerous, all the uncertainty. They were unraveling at the seams, and Will would too, if he allowed their feelings to crash into his. But at times he weren't even sure anymore, he didn't know if his thoughts were solely his, not when they're all going through the same thing together.  
  
Together.  
  
What a funny word. Positively negative in such an environment. Hunger, killings, deaths, war. They all go through it together. They bring back their dead comrades when it's all over, but leave parts of themselves back in the horror. Soldiers never ever come back whole.  
  
_We're better off dead._  
  
Will shook his head and breathed out, trying to stop his impending panic attack. He allowed his eyes to sweep over the cell, just a quick scan, but regretted it almost immediately. One or two of them had died a few days ago from septic wounds, and the guards didn't bother to remove their bodies from the cell. The ones closer to them had moved themselves further in an attempt to stay away from the fetid corpses, but in a space so cramped there were only so much they could move. Will was somewhat glad that he got the spot closer to the door.  
  
There were muck on the floor too, due to the lack of proper sanitation everyone was sitting in their own piss and shit. It won't be long before people start falling sick, or til their meager biscuit ration ran out. Will wondered if they would resort to eating one another. Desperation often drove men to madness. Madness would be a relief, he thought. It would be like a fresh drink of spring water. Nothing else to worry about.  
  
"You know what's a good way to go?" Matthew asked.  
  
Will tilted his head.  
  
"Taking a chunk out of Lecter." Matthew smiled, edges all wrong and lopsided. "I'd run right up to him, they can shoot me, beat me, whatever, but I'd still run. I'd take a bite right out of that bastard's face before I die."  
  
_That'd teach that Nazi motherfucker. But it's too damn light a punishment. How many of us has he killed? How many women and children, like Jenny and George has he sent to die? I'd-_  
  
Will blocked out Matthew's train of thoughts about the current general, and started counting the roaches again, to prevent himself from getting too deep into Matthew's head. He must have dozed off for a bit, for he was rudely shaken awake later.  
  
"Wha-"  
  
"There are people here." Matthew whispered.  
  
Will sat up, wary. There was a muted frenzy, an unspoken hope in the air. Did their general come back? Could they go home? Anticipation blanketed the cell as the footsteps outside stopped. Will sucked in a breath.  
  
"We are coming in and getting a few of you out. If you move without our permission, I will personally shoot you in the face. Understand?"  
  
Will deflated, hope wiped clean. They were once again gaunt, listless.  
  
The door opened outwards, and everyone squinted at the light that trickled in, unused to the brightness. The guard stood at the door, flanked by two others. He pulled out sheets of paper from his front pocket.  
  
"When I call your name, come up to the front-"  
  
A sudden shout and movement had Will's eyes jumping to a running figure. Cheeks sunken and legs wobbly, he had the gait of a newborn deer, but he was still trying, running towards the light streaming in from behind the guard. Everyone held their collective breath, a sickened fascination with the brave soul. A loud bang ricocheted across the room, and the figure stood still.  
  
_Run, what are you doing? Run!_ Will wanted to shout, but then he realised the cause of his immobility.  
  
A bullet had gone through his head, and his blood caused an abstract splash pattern on the people around him. Cheeks, mouth, forehead, arm, clothes.  
  
"As I was saying, come up to the front, and don't you pigs try anything like that or you will end up like him." The guard continued nonchalantly, began reading the names of the first row of his list.  
  
Faintly, Will registered his name being called, and he had to drag himself upwards, still in shock. He went to the guards, who put shackles around both his wrists and ankles. He was pushed roughly to the side, but all Will could see was the blood, pouring, rivulets and streams. The first drop came from the ceiling, and when it touched the floor it exploded into waves, rushing into him, the impact breaking him.  
  
Drip.  
  
Drip.  
  
Drip.  
  
"His name was Tobias Budge." Will muttered, eyes still on the ground. He had met him, sat at the same table a few times during training. He was a little odd, but wasn't that bad a guy. He had morals and principles, and two kids at home. His wife had passed a few years ago, and his kids soon to be if he doesn't return home safely.  
  
Will tasted metal in his mouth, and he looked up, into glaring heat.  
  
Sunlight.  
  
He looked around, bewildered. Everyone around him had a tool in their hands, and they were shoveling dirt onto wheelbarrows, waiting to be thrown. Will lifted a finger to his lips, and it came away red.  
  
"Oi, you!"  
  
Will blinked, looked at the beefy man storming towards him. He stood in a daze as the man stopped in front of him, his neck a nasty shade of purple.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing?" His accent was heavy.  
  
"I- uh, I don't know." Will blubbered.  
  
The man narrowed his eyes, and lifted his hand ready to strike Will, but was interrupted when an unknown person, equally unkempt as Will, spoke.  
  
"Sorry, sir, he's just a bit," The unknown person looped his finger around his temple, signifying Will's mental distress. "We'll go back to work right now."  
  
Will opened his mouth, ready to protest, but the unknown person had already steered him away, pulled him off to one side.  
  
"What the hell, Will? You can't just take Gruper on like that." His eyebrows were raised.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Gruper, that big guy who was about to shoot you?"  
  
"No, I, wait, who are you? And where am I?" Will pinched his nose bridge, feeling a headache coming on. He was dizzy, parched, and this person wasn't helping at all.  
  
"Don't play with me Will, not funny."  
  
"I'm serious, the guards were calling me outside my cell, and now I'm here, I really-" Will breathed, gripping at his root. "I must have lost time, or something. I don't know."  
  
Something in Will's face must have shown, because the stranger was now reassessing Will incredulously.  
  
"You weren't kidding, huh." A pause, and then, "You're in a labour camp currently, and my name is Brian Zeller. We've been here for approximately a week."  
  
_A week_. Will's stomach content promptly erupted onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- not beta'd so very LQ (also i sucked at history in school so their manner of speaking may be off and some geographical inaccuracies. google helped me a bit)  
> \- i'll try to post this asap, and i'll add on more warnings and pairings as the stories continues.


	2. zwei

There are two things Hannibal hated in the world, and they are, one, weak-willed people and two, discourtesy. Unfortunately in his line of work as a psychiatrist prior to his appointment as a general meant dealing with these two traits on a daily purpose. However there was a plus side to all of his frustration, it was the opportunity to study people, and he honestly enjoys digging through minds just to see how they fall apart. The mind doesn't work quite like the rest of the body — skin, flesh, cells —  they all grow back, mend. They recuperate and heal, form scars that might diminish over time. The mind is different. Easy to damage, easy to lose. It's hard to find sanity once you've misplaced them. Psychiatry is a very delicate branch of science, there are black and whites, ethics and codes set by regulators, but there were also grey areas where the doctor can tread as he deemed fit for his patients.

Hannibal favoured the grey, for unorthodox treatments often produced conclusive results. Possibilities are very real with the mind. His current lab rat was the heir to a large meat packing industry, and a very obnoxious person at that. He should have ended up on Hannibal’s dinner plate two nights ago, but his potty mouth proved to be increasingly annoying, and Hannibal would hate it if he didn’t get a lesson in manners before he went.

Hannibal walked around the makeshift operating theatre, picking a scalpel off the surgical tray. He stopped in front of the person sitting on the gurney, and pulled out a flashlight to shine into his eyes. Hannibal hummed, noting the lack of dilation. Must be the opiates. He placed the flashlight down, before asking, "Mason? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah I can. How are you, Doctor, no I mean, General Lecter? Or do you prefer the ripper title?" Mason's speech was slurred.

"I'm fine, thank you. And I'd very much prefer Doctor Lecter." Hannibal answered, injecting a liquid filled syringe into Mason's IV drip. It was true, Hannibal preferred the doctor title as compared to the crass nickname he was given. He did not rip, he dissected neatly. Calling him the ripper was an insult to his style.

Mason looked up slowly, trying to work a frown on his face, but it turned out to be more of a grimace. "What are you putting inside me?"

When Hannibal didn't answer, Mason pressed on. "It's rude not to answer, Mr. Ripper. I think you added a little something extra- Woah."

Mason's vision was starting to grow fuzzy around the edges, little shapes and colours blossoming and twisting into impossible forms. He giggled, spit dribbling down his chin, he collapsed backwards onto the gurney, seeing constellations written into the ceiling. He could even make out orion's belt. How he'd like to shove those up Margot's ass. Oh yes, that'd teach that bitch for running away and leaving him to die.

"A mixture of psychedelic compounds." Hannibal stepped back, observing Mason with unconcealed distaste and curiosity. "Mason, could you do me a favour?"

"Hmm?"

"Show me what you'd do to your sister, if she came back."

"On you?" Mason gurgled out. There was someone talking to him, and he could make out a vague humanoid shape, but he felt so very far away.

Far where Margot was. She was coming closer, she and her dumb horse. Mason squinted at her when she got off the horse, he wanted to speak, hit her, but his limbs were heavy at his sides. She had that dead expression on her face, a sure stride to her movement as she made a beeline for Mason. He expected her to stop in front of him, but she continued walking, she walked right into him. Margot settled inside of him slowly, he could feel every inch of her silky hair, right down to their individual strands. She wriggled in his belly, dark and heavy. She was like a disease, slowly poisoning him from the inside out. Mason thrashed, he wanted her to get out.

_Get the fuck out of me. GET OUT!_

Indistinctly, Mason felt something cold press into his hand, and a voice telling him to show him. Show him what? Margot? Mason realised the tool in his hand was a cutter of some sort, and he squeezed it tight. He’d carve the lines off Margot’s face slowly, trace her throat as she screamed, and if he were lucky he might even catch a few drops of tears. It’d be great for a martini. But first, he had to get her out of him. His vision was fraying, and it’s all because of the pest inside of him. He’d get her out.

_She will cease to exist when you consume her.  
_

Mason nodded fervently. Though he weren't superstitious, he understood the significance of change, moulting, metamorphosis. It was all part of a big plan, and God was on his side. He just had to carve and ingest. Slice off her cheeks, since they were so red and full of life recently. She probably had a bastard in her womb. He pulled the tool in his hand through her skin, and wetness gushed over his fingers. He could hear her scream, he could feel her cries, and it made him feel... _Powerful_. Gleefully he put the strip into his mouth, and chewed. He tried to swallow, but parts still fell out, he couldn't hold it in fully. He reached out for the parts he dropped, and it was handed back to him. He might have thanked the person, but he wasn’t really sure if he existed. All he knew was to consume and overcome. He gave purpose back to an unworthy life.

Hannibal observed as Mason took the scalpel to his right cheek, his teeth already visible on the other side. He’d admit that the experiment wasn’t so much of testing the new compounds discovered, it was more for his own amusement. A fitting form of discipline. He only had to sit back, and let Mason do all the work. However, Hannibal was getting quite done with watching Mason Verger eating himself. The floor was getting unnecessarily wet and dirty.

"Mason, stop what you're doing."

The man barely looked up, he continued to devour bits and pieces of flesh that will in turn fall out of his oral cavity. He was obsessed, mumbling about his sister and her reckoning.

"Mason." Hannibal warned.

Still, Mason was in his own world. Irritated, Hannibal walked over, ignoring the agitated sound Mason made. He had served his purpose, and there was no point keeping him alive. Hooking his arm around him, Hannibal snapped Mason's neck in a sure manner, resulting in a sickeningly loud crack. Mason slumped forward, and slowly slid onto the floor. Stepping carefully around the flesh and blood puddles, Hannibal peeled off his gloves and dumped them into the trashcan before heading to the sink. He let the water run, and ensured that his hands were scrubbed free of contaminants. While washing, he contemplated the possibility of those compounds being airborne, it'd definitely end the war sooner.

If his past patients had anything to say about it, Hannibal was good at making traps, luring preys and lying in wait until they stumbled. He pounced then, took the chance to tear. But war was different, Hannibal thought as he turned off the tap. Everyone, including himself, was living on borrowed time, bartered and paid for in blood. The tides could turn any minute, any second, and a fast and cruel war with distinctive victory on their side  would be ideal as compared to prolonged suffering and uncertain treading. Already he had intel of spies infiltrating the camps, and it wouldn't be long until they start sabotaging their food and weapon supplies. His men were already looking through the camps, there were hushed whispers of a British spy down in the labour divisions.

Hannibal looked in the mirror, and bared his teeth. They were sharp, so very sharp. He doesn’t tear into people as the rumours went, there were too many possibilities of disease spreading, but he did like the fear it instilled in his enemies as well as his men. It kept them in check. Stepping away from the sink, he made a split second decision. He hated the filth and manners of the people in the camps, but he ought to make a trip down, just to see how hard a person would be capable of screaming until his lungs collapsed.

It would be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's Hanni and Mason's (Mason I'm sorry I killed you!!!) brief cameo. This chapter is more of an introduction to Hanni's thoughts in this entire fic and I'm working on trying to make him as realistic as possible?? I mean like okay although I do want murder husbands!hannigram I don't think Will will start clinging onto Hanni like a koala from the start? It'd be dubcon for possibly three quarter of the ride, and it might end ugly. I have a brief outline in my head for where these characters would go, but honestly they're pulling me along instead of vice versa! Sorry, I'm babbling! Lol. Hannigram will meet next chapter, and hopefully longer than this, so stay tuned! :D
> 
> (and please talk to me [here](http://violetprose.tumblr.com) or [here?](http://twitter.com/peniskai) it'd make my day!)


End file.
